I, Draco
by Linneria
Summary: [Never to be resumed] Draco Malfoy's autobiograpy.


**I, Draco**  
"Trivial details paint big pictures"   
  
_By Linneria_  
  
Chapter One

I am bored. I slouch in the armchair. I seem to feel my blood settle in my veins. The stifling heat makes me feel against moving. My hair is plastered against my head, and I feel irritable. 

When I am bored, I kick up a big fuss. Make a lot of noise. Destroy things. Sulk. The servants have to pacify me before I get on my father's nerves. They will do anything to pamper me. But now, I don't even feel like moving, let alone kick up a big fuss. I glance over to the bell-pull beside my bed. All the way across the room. I want to grasp the thick cord with my fingers. Pull. Get some servant to lift this humidity, which seems to smother me like a wet blanket. I don't care what they do, just as long as they get rid of this heat. 

I pick up a cushion. One side is velvet, the other is brocade. The tassels are soft and swing hypnotically as I lift the cushion. I hurl it across the room. It sails through the air in an arc. Whoosh. Death to Harry Potter. The cushion lands with a soft floop. The second cushion. Whoosh. Death to Ron Weasley. Floop. Whoosh. Death to Hermione Granger. No floop. The cushion hits a Ming Dynasty vase. The vase falls to the floor, the pieces leaving ugly white marks on the carpet. 

I sigh heavily. 

Moments later there are footsteps coming down the hallway, coming towards my room. Ah. At last. The Ming vase was sacrificed for a good cause. The door opens. A servant girl comes in. She has an apprehensive look on her face. Her features are accented, elfin. Her hair brown, eyes violet. Rather pretty, in an angular sort of way. 

"You can start by cleaning up this mess," I wave my hand at the vase. 

"Yes, young master," she replies, with a little bob, eyes downcast. She produces a little duster and a dustpan and proceeds to sweep up the remnants of the vase. 

"Now bring me a glass of pumpkin juice, with ice." She curtsies and leaves the room. A while later, she returns, grasping the glass with both hands. 

"Here, young master," She brings the glass toward me. And spills the contents on me. I feel a cold wave of pumpkin juice soak through my robes, and the blocks of ice slip onto the floor. The girl stifles a giggle. Enraged, I stand up. Any look of amusement disappears from her face, replaced by fear. I snatch up my wand from the table. 

"Young master Malfoy, I... it wasn't intentional. I'm sorr-" she stutters. 

"Silenso!" Shock is written all over her face as her pathetic excuses are stemmed. Spill pumpkin juice on me and laugh, will you? 

"Crucio," I hiss. I did not intend to use the Cruciatus Curse, but in my blind fury, the word came out of my mouth. Her eyes hardly had time to widen before she falls to the floor, body convulsing. The violet eyes are filled with terror, pain. She jerks some more. Her mouth is open, but no sound comes out. Her body is twisting, twisting in grotesque forms, unimaginable forms. She writhes in agony, her hair all over the place. She has stopped trying to scream. Her eyes now pleading. Pleading me to stop. 

I hold my wand tightly, not taking my eyes off the lithe form of the girl. She is in pain, torture. And somehow, I revel in it. I know that if I don't stop soon, she will never be the same again. But I don't care. The Crutiatus Curse seems to have and addictive effect on the user. Addictive pleasure. 

I raise my wand. She stops shuddering. Lying there, gasping for breath. Her eyes are slightly unfocused. I stand there staring mutely at her, not knowing what to do, breathing heavy. 

The door opens, causing me to start and break out of my reverie. It is Father. He walks over, not saying a word. He bends down and examines the girl. I know that she is damaged beyond repair without having him tell me. He straightens. 

" Watch Draco, watch and learn." He says, reaching for his wand. I watch. Standing there stupidly, not doing anything. 

"Avada Kadavra." He says softly, deftly. There is a blinding green flash, a rushing sound, and the girl stops gasping. She lies there, glassy eyed. I am still processing the fact that she is dead, and Father has already transfigured her body into a piece of parchment. He starts a fire and throws the parchment in. He then conjures up a wind to scatter the ashes. Clean as a whistle. 

There is no sound except for the drip-drip of pumpkin juice from the armchair. 

Once you have administrated the Crutiatus Curse excessively, there is nothing to do but to get rid of the evidence. Father is right. Implicitely. 

* 

That's me. Ready for Azkaban at the age of 13. 

~~

The girl stopped reading. She sat in her chair, book held open in her hands. Outside her window, the sky was darkening, the air filled with the incessant chatter of birds returning home for the night. The moon was already visible, a ghostly pale figure. It looked like someone has accidentally spilled a drop of paint on the vast blue canvas that was the sky. 

The girl's eyes were focused on a distant memory. A mŽlange of emotions bubbled and frothed within her. The book slipped from her hands and fell to the floor with a clatter. She did not move, gaze still fixed. For some time she sat like that, oblivious of her surroundings, detached from the present. Like one in a trance. The she sighed. The past was over. 

Sighing again, the girl bent down to pick up the book, slender fingers gripping the spine. She held it up to her face. Brushed the beautiful calligraphic title with her fingertips. She stared at the nacreous picture. It was just like she remembered him. Silvery blond hair falling perfectly. Pale skin almost luminous, giving him the look of one bathed in moonlight. Grey eyes pale and limpid, fixing her with a customary cool look. High cheekbones and sharp chin the colour of ivory. His face was angled slightly, in an almost condescending manner. Every bit the Draco Malfoy she remembered. While most pictures smiled, waved (or sulked), this particular one only blinked occasionally. 

His autobiography. A bestseller. Millions of sales. Raking in heaps of galleons. But what's the use, the girl thought sardonically, a mirthless smile on her face. Malfoy's already dead.

The girl opened the book again and read on. 

~~

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters of Draco and Lucius Malfoy. JK Rowling does. 

A/N: Phew. After working on this idea for SUCH a long time, the first chapter's fianally up! Lots of drafts were scraped, lots of ideas dumped.. Hope you liked it. 


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